


Eraser

by the23rdspectacledone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, BAMF Greg Lestrade, BAMF Mycroft Holmes, Big Brother Mycroft, First Meetings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is a Hufflepuff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, Mycroft is a Slytherin, Oblivious Greg Lestrade, Oblivious Mycroft, Potterlock, Pre-Relationship, Protective Mycroft, amen, because there aren't many hogwarts aus for mystrade, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-15 23:42:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11241729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the23rdspectacledone/pseuds/the23rdspectacledone
Summary: “For fuck’s sake…” he muttered under his breath, careful not to be heard, “I’m a bloody Slytherin. Why would anyone even look at m–”Mycroft cut himself off when he saw him.A certain Hufflepuff walked down the corridor, a broad grin on his face as he listened to his mate tell him about something he saw in Zonko’s. He promptly broke into a fit of giggles –Mycroft thought he looked adorable.





	1. Chapter 1

The corridors were filled with black-robed students as each class rushed off to the next, various students chatting and laughing as they made their way to their class. The auburn-haired teen’s eyes roamed over the crowd, absently seeking out a certain Hufflepuff’s charming face as he sat under a tree, supposedly reading a book.

He sighed quietly when he realised what he was doing. It was pathetic, he knew. He’s been doing it since his first year at Hogwarts. And now that he was in his fifth year, he was still doing it. Watching that Hufflepuff boy, just hoping that maybe-- _maybe_ —he might look at him one day.

“For fuck’s sake…” he muttered under his breath, careful not to be heard, “I’m a bloody Slytherin. Why would anyone even I look at m–”

Mycroft cut himself off when he saw him.

A certain brunette walked down the corridor, a broad grin on his face as he listened to his mate tell him about something he saw in _Zonko’s_. He promptly broke into a fit of giggles -Mycroft thought he looked adorable.

A warm smile curled on his lips as he watched. That boy…he was definitely something. Especially since he managed to get the elder Holmes’ attention.

He was just about to get up to go to his own class, when he saw the brunette turn his head, accidentally locking eyes with him. Mycroft felt frozen in place, his heart hammering and his cheeks reddening as the Hufflepuff looked at him.

They held each others’ gazes for a few seconds or so, but it felt like _hours_ to Mycroft. Slowly, a warm smile formed on the boy’s lips, and it took awhile for Mycroft to realise that he was actually smiling at _him_.

Mycroft turned a bright red, and even brighter –if that was possible—when he saw the boy chuckle. He quickly gathered up his things and stuffed them into his bag, making a hasty retreat before he could embarrass himself. A “hasty retreat” was probably a bad idea, since he ended up tripping over someone and dropping his belongings.

The elder Holmes groaned internally as he picked up his stuff, muttering apologies to whoever it was he tripped over –Professor Flitwick—and helping him up. He glanced behind his shoulder, seeing the Hufflepuff boy look at him one last time, a smile still on his face, before resuming his walk to class.

Mycroft let out a quiet groan as he stuffed his bag again, muttering one last apology to the professor, and went on to class.

* * *

 

“What was that?”

Greg turned to look at his best friend, Michael Dimmock, as they walked to Transfiguration. “What was what?” he asked, casting Dimmock a questioning glance; especially at the smirk he was wearing.

The shorter teen let out an exasperated sigh. “ _Really_ , Greg? This is, what? The thousandth time I’ve caught you looking at Holmes? Just do us all a favour and ask him out, for fuck’s sake.” When Dimmock saw the brunette blush hard, he rolled his eyes. “Have you ever even talked to the bloke?”

“I—well—,” Greg stammered as they navigated their way through the student filled corridors. When he looked at Dimmock, and saw his raised brow, he sighed. “No,” he said quietly, looking away from his friend and huffing.

“You’ve been here five years,” Dimmocksaid slowly, “And you’ve never even talked to him?” When Greg shook his head, he laughed. “That sure explains why you’re still not put off by him.” Greg looked at him questioningly, so he explained. “A Slytherin prodigy everyone’s been talking about ever since he came here, and then even more when his little brother came at the start of the year—y’know, that one kid who sorted himself into Slytherin and made the Sorting Hat agree with him; Never thought that was your type, to be honest.”

“Why would the fact that he’s a genius be something to put me off? And honestly, I can’t understand the contention between you Gryffindors and Slytherins.” Although he’s heard things about Mycroft, not all of them necessarily good since a lot of his info came from Gryffindors, he doesn’t really know much about the Slytherin boy.

Dimmock looked at his friend and shrugged. “Tradition, I guess? Also, I heard that he can know everything about you just by _looking,_ apparently. Lots of people say he’s a legilimen or somethin’ like that; but his little brother says he just deduces things about them. People say its bollocks, but I believe him. He don’t look like the type of kid that lies about stuff like that just for people to like him. And as far as I know,” the younger teen sighed, “No one actually likes the poor kid, especially since that little bastard reveals all your deepest darkest secrets in front of loads of people, and then just leaves you to deal with whatever shit his little deductions put you in.”

Greg stared at Dimmock blankly, before a broad grin spread across his features. “You sure know a lot about the Holmeses,” he chuckled, “Been keeping a lookout for me, then?”

“Nah. It was Molly who told me all this stuff, to be honest,” the other teen shrugged, “Wasn’t even asking. D’you know she has a crush on the other Holmes kid? I think you two might get along quite nicely.”

Greg chuckled as they entered the Transfiguration classroom, taking their seats at the very back of the class. “Your little cousin already has a crush, has she?” a faint smile was on Greg’s lips, “It’s not even been a year yet. Kids these days,” laughed Greg, effectively shifting the conversation away from his...thing...for Mycroft.

Dimmock stared at Greg a bit, his brow raised. He noticed the topic shift, but that was mainly his doing he realised. But just as soon as he was about to call Greg out, a cat came into the classroom, shushing everyone as it leaped up onto the professor’s desk.

* * *

 

Just when Mycroft thought his day couldn’t get any worse.

The auburn-haired teen was just lounging around the Slytherin common room as he did some advanced reading on the chapter he was _sure_ Snape would give a pop quiz on—not that he would really need to read up on the subject—when the entrance to the dorm slammed open and Sherlock burst into the room.

Mycroft could already feel a headache coming on as he took in his little brother’s disheveled form; hair unrulier than usual, bruises all over his face, a black eye and a cut lip. “What happened…?” he asked quietly, already closing his book.

When Sherlock didn’t speak—or even look at him—the elder Holmes shook his head and stood up, walking over to the younger boy. He cupped Sherlock’s chin in one hand and made him look up at him, a stern expression on his face.

“…got into a fight…” Sherlock mumbled quietly, his eyes trying to avert Mycroft’s gaze.

“Who did you fight and _why_?”

“…Anderson…”

“Who?”

“Fucking Anderson…!” the young boy snarled, glaring at Mycroft now.

Mycroft glared around the room at the people who looked up at Sherlock’s outburst, before turning back to his brother, a stern expression on his face. “Alright…” he sighed, “Why did you fight him, Sherlock?”

“Because he’s an idiot.”

“That’s not very helpful.”

“But it’s true!”

The elder Holmes just looked at his younger brother, his eyes roaming over his petulant face. And in an instant, Mycroft knew _why_ Sherlock got into a fight. It was primary school all over again.

He let out a quiet sigh, grasping Sherlock by the wrist and pulling him towards his prefect's quarters. They needed privacy.

When the two Holmes brothers were finally alone, both seated on Mycroft’s four-poster, Sherlock was quiet. Almost feeble looking, but still rather snappish. Mycroft reached out a hand and cupped Sherlock’s chin as he inspected the damage.

“In what state did you leave the Gryffindor boy…?” he asked quietly as he let go of Sherlock’s face.

Judging from his younger brother’s silence, Mycroft was very sure that the other boy was brought to the hospital wing as soon as his little brother backed off. Mycroft sighed. “What did you do to him, Sherlock…?”

Sherlock scowled, but said, “Beat him to a pulp… a broken nose, a black eye far worse than mine, and several loose teeth…” the young boy paused a moment before adding, “Oh, and I may or may not have used that spell you taught me a few days ago.”

“ _Anteoculatia_?”

“Yeah, that one.”

At another time, Mycroft would’ve been proud of the younger boy because he pulled off the spell on the first try, but not now –though he couldn’t help the proud smile that ghosted his lips. “Sherlock…” sighed the auburn-haired teen, “Do you realise the consequences your actions have caused?”

“Well, what I did to the bumbling fool was far less severe than what I had planned…” Sherlock muttered quietly.

And Mycroft didn’t doubt that. Several times this month, he saw Sherlock practising by himself near the Quidditch pitch when everyone else was in Hogsmeade. And what he saw made him immensely proud of the first-year—and also a wee bit terrified of what Sherlock might become.

He was sure Sherlock saw him playing with the same spell a few months ago. _Magna Mortem_. Mycroft remembered what Sherlock looked like, and it frightened him. Sherlock was just a first-year, and yet he was starting to master such an advanced spell…Mycroft hoped to God that no one would ask his little brother to a duel.

“So why didn’t you do it…? What you had planned, I mean.”

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft and scowled. “Two boys stopped me…” he mumbled.

Mycroft quirked a brow at that. That…has never happened before. Usually, the only people who could stop Sherlock were some of the professors, and him. But those two boys…? He needed to know them quickly. He could use them to keep Sherlock in check.

“Well. Then I should thank them,” the older boy sighed, “If it weren’t for them, you’d be on a train for Azkaban.”

The younger boy just scowled at Mycroft, making him heave another sigh. “So,” he murmured, “You ran from the teachers, yes? I imagine Snape must be tracking you down as we speak. His favouritism for Slytherins doesn’t apply to either of us, you know. He’ll have you suspended. Or worse, expelled.”

“I don’t care.”

“You could’ve _at least_ let them catch you. The consequences would have been far less severe.”

“Mycroft, you’re talking to me as if I _care_ ,” Sherlock snapped, his scowl still firmly in place.

Mycroft just shook his head and sighed, bringing out his wand to conjure up an ice bag. He held it out to his little brother, and when he didn’t take it, went ahead to press it against the younger boy’s swollen eye.

“Stop squirming,” Mycroft sighed, “It’ll only hurt more if you–”

The elder Holmes abruptly stopped talking, swallowing thickly as he looked past his brother, to the open doorway.

Snape was there.

* * *

 

In the end, Sherlock was merely suspended from classes for three days thanks to Mycroft’s persuasion of the other professors to help his little brother’s case. Nevertheless, Snape was still furious with the two of them. For some awful reason, he wanted to expel the two Holmes boys _badly_. Mycroft was curious just why the potions master was always angry with them, but didn’t want to dwell on it for a little while. He can worry about that later.

Mycroft left the Great Hall after supper, his mood lower than it was earlier in the day and his eyes downcast as he trudged towards the Slytherin dorms. He felt tired, more so than usual, and was just absolutely looking forward to curl up on his bed and shut out the world. But apparently that’ll have to wait.

His eyes roamed over the crowd as he exited the hall, his eyes immediately snapping to where his brother was backed up against the wall by three Gryffindor third years. One of them, he realised when he saw the blonde, was Victor Trevor; Sherlock’s so-called ‘friend’, who appeared to have been in league with the bullies Sherlock was complaining about to the other boy from the start.

A fresh new wave of anger, mixed with anxiety, rose in the elder Holmes’ chest as he made his way to the building little crowd.

“You’re a bloody _freak_ , Holmes!” one of the boys (Augustus Milverton) sneered, poking Sherlock in the chest. “It’s a wonder they even let you stay after what you did to that kid. Should’ve gotten you expelled!”

The boys around them laughed and sneered insults at the dark-haired boy, the latter just keeping his head down and his fists clutched at his sides. Mycroft knew just how much the younger Holmes was itching to fight back, but knew he couldn’t. Knew he _shouldn’t_.

Mycroft thought for a few seconds that Sherlock could handle it, that he’ll be able to keep himself at bay, but that thought was immediately dispelled when the Gryffindors started to push Sherlock around.

“What’re you gonna do, huh?!” said one of the boys (Mycroft didn’t know his name. Yet.), chuckling as they bullied the younger boy, “You gonna fight us and have yourself expelled?”

The auburn-haired teen pushed through the crowds, his eyes flashing and a low growl escaping his lips as he got nearer to them. Apparently not fast enough.

When the boys realised that they wouldn’t be able to get a response from the dark-haired Slytherin, the boy in the front swung his fist, hitting Sherlock hard on the cheek and making him stumble back against the wall. Just when Mycroft thought his little brother was about to snap, somebody else’s fist swung towards the boy who hit Sherlock.

“Leave him alone!” a blonde Gryffindor boy growled, putting himself between Sherlock and the bullies –like a human shield. “He’s done nothing to you! You’ve no right to bully him!”

“Why you–!”

And before the boy could even finish his sentence, the boy was roughly pulled away from Sherlock and thrust toward the wall–by a Hufflepuff fifth year. Mycroft’s eyes widened when he realised who it was.

“Back off, Wilkes,” the brunette growled, his eyes flashing as he glared at the third years. Mycroft’s eyes widened even more when he noticed that that made the bullies retreat just a bit.

“Why the hell are you two defending the bloody _freak_?” the boy ( _Oh, so_ that’s _Sebastian Wilkes_ , Mycroft thought) snarled, though it was a bit tamer than before, now that the Hufflepuff fifth year was there.

“Because no one deserves to be bullied just because they’re a bit different. And you’ve got a lot of _nerve_ calling anyone a freak, Mr. Third-Nipple.”

A broad grin curled on the brunette’s face as he watched Sebastian’s face slowly contort from confusion, to realisation, and then to horror. He could practically pinpoint the moment when the words “ _He knows_ ” popped into the younger boy’s head.

The other two boys looked at Sebastian confusedly, appearing not to know what the fifth year was talking about. Nevertheless, a blush covered the boy’s face entirely, already backing off from the fight.

“I…you…you’ll regret this day, Lestrade…!” the younger boy growled as he started to back away, before turning entirely and disappearing into the crowd, followed by two confused third years trailing behind him.

As soon as the bullies disappeared, the two turned to look at Sherlock, who was now sitting on the floor, staring up at them confusedly.

“Sherlock, you alright?” asked the blonde, who Mycroft realised was John Watson. He crouched down beside the dark-haired boy.

“I’m…fine, John…” Sherlock mumbled absently, looking at John curiously. He glanced between John and Lestrade, brows furrowed. “I still do not understand why you two are helping me.”

The young Gryffindor boy held a hand out, which Sherlock took hesitantly, and helped the taller boy to his feet. “Well, I don’t understand why we shouldn’t,” John said, smiling.

“I’m a Slytherin.”

“And?”

“You’re…a Gryffindor.”

“Your point being?” Greg said, brow quirked upward.

Sherlock fell silent for a bit, just looking curiously at his two saviours, and shook his head. “I did not need your help. I could’ve handled it.”

“You looked like you were about to snap, Sherlock,” Lestrade sighed, “We can’t have you getting your first ticket to Azkaban just for some half-wit bullies. They’re not worth it.”

Mycroft stood gobsmacked, watching the boys as they interacted with his younger brother.  This can’t be real. It cannot _possibly_ be real. The elder Holmes boy has never seen anyone talk to his brother so…amiably. And not looking like they wanted to punch Sherlock in the face.

He approached them with a bit of trepidation, not wanting to disturb the curious scene unfolding before him. When he got within a few meters of the other boys, Lestrade turned a bit, then accidentally locked eyes with him. Mycroft tensed up as the brunette flashed a smile at him, a blush blooming on his face.

Just as soon as the brunette turned to approach him, Sherlock spoke up.

“Fatcroft,” he sneered, “So nice of you to finally come to my rescue. Had fun watching from afar, did you?”

“I…I was merely…surprised,” Mycroft mumbled quietly, his eyes still stuck on Lestrade.

When Sherlock noticed that his older brother still wasn’t looking at him but at the Hufflepuff, a broad grin curled on his lips. “Oh! So this is–?”

Mycroft immediately rushed over to Sherlock’s side, clamping a hand over his tyrannical little brother’s mouth and giving Lestrade an apologetic smile. “Oh, please do not mind my little brother. But I really must thank you for keeping him in check, Mr…?”

“Lestrade. Greg Lestrade,” he held out his hand to shake, an idiotic grin on his face.

The auburn-haired teen let go of Sherlock and shook the offered hand firmly, heart hammering faster in his chest as he felt calloused fingers curl around his own. He hesitantly let go of the older boy’s hand as he turned to look down at the Gryffindor. It took a while for him to realise that Mycroft was asking for his name.

“Oh. Um. John Watson.” He offered his hand to shake, and Mycroft took that as well.

“I must thank you two again,” Mycroft said with a tight-lipped smile, before glancing at his brother. “Who knows what he might’ve done if you two hadn’t come along…”

“I wouldn’t have done anything!”

“Hush you,” Mycroft glared at his little brother, before turning back to look at the two boys. “Thank you again,” he said, at the two boys, but mostly at Lestrade, “For helping Sherlock, I mean.”

“Oh, was no problem,” Lestrade shrugged, “Was just doing my job, being a prefect and all that,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and unable to look at Mycroft with him smiling like that.

A small silence surrounded them for a bit, the two teens just looking at each other, not knowing what else to say, while the two first years smirked knowingly at them. Mycroft was the first to glance away, a prominent blush starting to bloom on his face.

“Well,” Mycroft said, but did not continue. He was looking down at his feet, but then narrowed his eyes at Sherlock and John when they snickered.

“Well,”Greg replied, grinning, “It was nice meeting you, Mycroft.” As he said this, he noticed the badge pinned on Mycroft's chest. His eyebrows rose. “I didn't know you were a prefect?” He said, surprised. “I never see you at any of the prefects meetings, though—or on patrols.” Greg looked at him with a questioning glance, curious.

Mycroft was surprised that Lestrade was still talking to him. “Yes, well—,” Mycroft hummed, “The Head Boy and Girl prefer to have private meetings with me, since I do have...rather _special_ assignments.” Mycroft smiled a tight lipped smile, unable to say more.

“Just say that you're Hogwarts' Spymaster and be done with it,” Sherlock scoffed.

“Sherlock!”

“What? It's true!”

“Wait—spymaster?” Greg and John were looking at Mycroft with wide eyes.

Mycroft was groaning internally. ‘ _Damn it, ‘Lock,’_ he sighed in his mind. He looked around them to see if anyone else heard, and when he was sure that no one had, he cast a quick immobilization spell on the three students and quickly pulled them into the shadows.

When they were alone, he released the spell, biting his lip as he watched the three gasp for air as they came to. A small frown tugged on Mycroft's lips as he watched Lestrade shake himself a bit to get rid of the after effects of the spell. ‘ _Such a shame_ ,’ Mycroft thought, ‘ _Just when I finally had the chance to talk to him, I have to..._ ’

“I have to obliviate you, Lestrade.”


	2. Chapter 2

Greg blinked up at Mycroft, those words shaking him completely out of the aftereffects of the immobilization spell. This day definitely did not turn out the way he thought. For one, the object of his affections wanted to obliviate him just after their first meeting.

“Wait—b-but—why?” he stammered

“You're not supposed to know.”

“Why?”

“Why? Lestrade, even I don't have to explain that to you.”

Greg clenched his hands at his sides, trying to think of a reason why Mycroft shouldn't obliviate him. He didn't want to forget that he finally had the chance to talk to Mycroft. Didn't want to forget the feel of his hand in his, even if that was just for a few moments. But all he could think to say was, “I promise I won't tell. I promise.”

Mycroft merely raised a pretty brow at him, scanning over his face as if he was looking for something. Greg figured that Mycroft might be doing his deducing thing, so he let him. He was telling the truth anyway; he never told on anyone unless it was needed.

“I...I see,” Mycroft murmured quietly, before turning to John and Sherlock, who were in the process of creeping away silently before Mycroft looked at them. John tensed up when Mycroft’s piercing eyes were trained on him. Mycroft was about to say something before Sherlock shoved himself between his brother and John, a low growl escaping him.

“ _Don’t_ ,” he said quietly, surprising both himself and Mycroft.

Mycroft raised his brows at Sherlock. A small smile started to form on Mycroft’s lips—he really should smile more, Greg thought—before he nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said to Sherlock, and then addressing John, “I _might_  consider not obliviating you, Watson. As long as you promise not to tell anyone, of course.”

“Er,” John said awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head, looking at Sherlock curiously, “Honestly, I don’t mind if you do, though? I’m not good at keeping secrets, and I’d really rather forget about this. But only as long as you only erase the fact that I know you’re the spymaster, and not how I helped Sherlock from the bullies.”

“That could be arranged,” Mycroft nodded, “But apparently,” Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, smirking when the young boy narrowed his eyes at him, “It seems that Sherlock doesn’t want me to do it. I think he’s gotten attached to you, Watson. You should be proud.”

“Um? That’s...good, I guess?”

“It really is.”

“Mycroft, fuck off!”

“Sherlock, chill—”

“Let’s go, John! He’s not allowed to erase your memory ‘cos I said so!”

“Wait-what—”

“Sherlock, stop.”

Sherlock and John both froze up at the cold tone in Mycroft’s voice. They looked up at the fifth year, not seeing a student, but a Spymaster looking down at them. They stood frozen for a few moments before Mycroft let out a huff. “You know how it is, Sherlock,” Mycroft addressed his younger brother, “You know that I have to obliviate him—especially after that confession that he isn't much good with secrets.”

“But it’s dangerous!”

“Lock,” Mycroft walked towards his brother, “I’ve done this a million times—”

“Wait, what?” Greg intercepted.

“—And you know all of the people I’ve done this to are doing fine. I’m exceedingly good at my job, you know that,” he continued, as if Greg hadn’t spoken. Gone was the shadow of the spymaster, and back was the boy just trying to take care of his younger brother.

Sherlock still looked unsure, before John put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, mate,” John smiled at the other boy, “I’ll still remember you, don’t worry. I’ll just be forgetting about your brother—it's not that he’s important enough to remember,” he turned to Mycroft then, “no offense.”

Mycroft smiled a bit a that. “None taken.”

John looked back at Sherlock and smiled reassuringly at him, squeezing his shoulder for a moment, before turning back to Mycroft. “Let’s get this over with; I still need to do my potions homework.”

Mycroft nodded, turning to John as he brought out his wand, pressing it to his temple.

“This won’t hurt a bit.”

A bright glow started to emanate from Mycroft’s wands as he said the words, the tip still pressed to John’s temple. Greg could see his eyes start to lose focus and his mouth go slack.

“Er...is that supposed to happen?”

“Yes, that’s rather normal,” Mycroft nodded, putting his wand down. He turned to Sherlock, “He’ll be like that for a few minutes. I suggest you take him away from here before he comes to.” Sherlock was still staring worriedly at John, and Mycroft couldn't help but smile at this rare display of sentiment. “Go on—shoo,” he made a shooing motion towards his little brother, which made the younger boy glare up at him.

Greg watched the younger Holmes snarl at his brother while he pulled John away, Mycroft chuckling a bit as they went. ‘ _Now isn’t that a sight_ ,’ Greg thought as he watched the scene, ‘ _Mycroft Holmes laughing—never thought I’d be lucky enough to witness it_.’ He broke out of his thought when Mycroft turned back to him, a serious look on his face.

“Lestrade...you’ve just made my job much more difficult, did you know that?”

“Erm...sorry?”

When Mycroft just looked at him blankly for a few moments, he didn’t know what to do under that calculating gaze. It felt uncomfortable. But he was surprised when Mycroft huffed a few seconds later, a resigned smile on his lips.

“Honestly. It would be far easier for the both of us if I were to just obliviate you.”

‘ _But then I’d forget about talking to you_ ,’ Greg thought, ‘ _Merlin knows how long it’d be before I got to talk to you again without me chickening out._ ’

“I promised I won’t tell anyone, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” Mycroft nodded, looking him over for a moment, as if he was searching for something. “But no matter that you won’t tell anyone—you’d still know. Are you really prepared to keep all of Hogwarts secrets to yourself, even if you feel that others must know them? You will become aware of everything that happens in dark within Hogwarts. Because that burden comes with knowing who I really am, you know.”

Greg paused for a moment, thinking. What was he getting himself into? All he wanted was to not forget about his first interaction with Mycroft after four years of having a crush on the boy—never mind that he was apparently Hogwarts’ shadow head. He thought that maybe—maybe this might all be too much just for a brief memory of Mycroft’s hand in his. But when he looked at Mycroft—those piercing blue eyes gazing into his, those adorable freckles on his cheeks, that errant curl—he thought it might be worth it.

“Yes,” Greg said simply, “I’ll be alright, I guess.”

Greg cherished the look on the Slytherin’s face—not everyone got the chance to see a Holmes so surprised. And after a few seconds, he cherished even more the sound of Mycroft’s quiet laugh. ‘ _That is a good laugh right there. Good work, Lestrade._ ’

“Alright,” Mycroft sighed deeply, gesturing for Greg to follow him as he turned to walk away, “But we have to inform the Head Boy and Girl about this. Despite what I think of this situation, I think they’d be pleased.”

Greg snorted. “They’re never not pleased about anything, those two.”

Mycroft laughed again. Greg couldn’t stop smiling.

* * *

 

Mycroft could feel his heart racing as he led Greg towards the prefects' common room, unable to comprehend why he was even doing this. He should've just obliviated him right away, not let him _reason_ with him and...and _charm_ him with his _honesty_ and his large brown eyes and charming smile...

‘ _What must Gregory think of me?_ ’ Mycroft thought as they walked along, though careful to hide any expression. ‘ _Finding out that I'm Hogwarts' spymaster on our first meeting...surely a...friendly association would now be impossible._ ’

“I can hear you thinking, mate. You alright?”

Mycroft startled out of his head, turning to Greg surprised. “You can hear my thoughts?”

Greg couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips—‘ _What a sight_ ,’ Mycroft thought—“No, I can't,” Greg said, grinning, “But I can read expressions pretty well, I guess? You just looked like you were bothered about something, is all.”

Mycroft stared at Greg, surprised. Mycroft was known as the Ice Man for a reason: no one could ever read his expressions—save for Dumbledore and the Head Students, of course—but that was beside the point. How did Greg even notice?

Greg had started fidgeting under his gaze, and that's when Mycroft realized he had been staring too long. Mycroft cleared his throat, looking away with a blush on his cheeks.

“Interesting,” was all he said.

“Er. Yeah.”

They said nothing more the rest of the way to the prefects’ common room. When they entered the room, Greg stopped in the middle of the room for a moment, looking at Mycroft curiously.

“Yes?” Mycroft asked.

“I’ve just realised,” Greg said slowly, “You’re...a prefect, yeah?”

Mycroft tilted his head, nodding.

Greg looked at him confusedly. “I’ve never seen you in this room before, though?”

“Ah,” Mycroft smiled, nodding a bit, “I only come here for when the Head Students call me.” He looked around the common room, pausing for a beat, before adding, “I also have my own sitting room, albeit a bit small; so I don’t really feel the need to come here.”

Greg gaped at Mycroft, shocked. Mycroft rather liked seeing Greg so shocked—it was adorable.

“You have your own bloody sitting room?!”

“I’ve even got my own room. I’m not rooming with anyone.”

“Really? Not even another prefect?”

“Yes. Spymaster's privileges.”

“What’s going on here?”

Greg and Mycroft turned at the voice, seeing Harry Watson and Louie Gregson enter the room—the Head Girl and Boy. They looked at the two younger students, surprised. Gregson was the first to break the silence.

“Mycroft? We don’t remember summoning you here? Also...” he glanced at Greg, before looking back at Mycroft, a small smile on his face, “Finally told Lestrade then, have you?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes at Gregson, especially when Harry smirked along with him. These two were conspiring against him, he just knew it.

“Er, yeah. Mycroft told me.”

Harry was grinning wickedly now. Mycroft could just kill her. No one would know. “You took it well, then?”

“Um?” Greg looked at Mycroft, “Yeah, I guess? I mean, it was surprising at first, but I can get used to it.”

“So I take it congratulations are in order?” Gregson asked.

Greg blinked, confused. “Congratulations...for not being obliviated after finding out Mycroft's the spymaster?”

“Yes!” Mycroft intercepted, turning and glaring at the other two who were grinning innocently, “Indeed, many have found out that I am the spymaster—very few have been allowed to retain their memories of me.”

“Good on you, Lestrade!” Harry laughed, slapping Greg hard on the shoulder.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at the older girl, but smiled fondly at her all the same. Although the Head Students annoyed him most of the time, he was still rather fond of them. Mainly because they were one of the few who stood to his defense when he was a first year. They've been his most loyal friends ever since—aside from Anthea, of course.

“So,” Gregson clapped his hands together before turning to Mycroft, his head cocked, “You have something important to tell us, yes? You rarely come here for no reason.”

Mycroft noted the shift in the elder students' expressions; the tense lines on their brows, the clenched jaws. The mischief in Harry's eyes disappeared, and in its place was something hard. ‘They think I bring bad news again.’

Mycroft smiled reassuringly at them, and when he did, the tension slipped away from both Harry and Gregson. “I'm only here to tell you that I have not—and will not—obliviate Lestrade. He's promised that he won't speak of the truth and I...trust him.”

As the last words left his mouth, Mycroft instantly regretted it. He realized he had made a mistake when the slow, mischievous grins started to form on the Head Students' faces. ‘ _Dear lord. What now?_ ’

“Yeah, you can definitely trust little Greggie,” grinned Gregson, making Lestrade grimace at the nickname, and even more when the older boy ruffled his hair, “He's always been good with secrets. Didn't even tell the professors about that time he caught Harriet here stealing from Snape's stores. What were you even brewing that day, Harry?”

Harry turned to the younger students, a large grin on her face. “Pooping potion.”

Greg's eyes brightened with realization. “Oh, so that was your doing.”

“What was her doing?”

Greg looked at the older boy, grinning. “Remember that time when we beat Gryffindor during this year's first quidditch match?”

“Definitely. Poor Wood still couldn't get over the loss. Well, can't blame us if we couldn't get any practice done ‘cos nearly half the team had stomach problems...for...a...week...”

Slow realization dawned on the Gryffindor quidditch captain when he saw the wicked gleam in the Ravenclaw girl's eyes.

“You!”

“Me!”

“You really are rather slow, aren't you?” Mycroft laughed.

“B-but...why?” Gregson asked, ignoring Mycroft's remark and a little bit hurt by the betrayal of his friend.

Harry regarded him for a moment, the mischief gone from her eyes. “I saw a couple of Gryffindors making fun of my little brother a week before the game. And then I overhear them making 10-galleon-bets favoring the Gryffindor quidditch team and I...” she grinned, an evil gleam in her eyes, “I just couldn't resist.”

“And to be frank, we still would've won even if Harry didn't do all that,” Greg added, smiling.

Gregson glared at Harry and Greg, both of whom were smirking up at him. He shook his head before turning back to Mycroft. “As I was saying,” he threw one last glare at the other two, who just laughed, “Greg can be trusted. As a matter of fact, I think I'd trust him enough to be an assistant to you.”

“What?” the two younger students said at the same time.

Mycroft and Greg looked at each other with wide eyes. Gregory he...Mycroft knew he could trust him. He knew that Greg could handle the work of a spy—Merlin knows he's been watching him for so long that he knows of all of his abilities by heart, but he just can't...

“No. Gregory is...far too well-known to become an assistant to me,” he reasoned halfheartedly, “He won't be able to go undercover.”

“But that's just it,” Harry said, “Greg _is_ well known. He's known for being the nice, well-liked, slow-thinking—”

“Oi!”

“—Hufflepuff prefect that looks after everyone and everything. No one would suspect that he's working for Hogwarts' shadow head.”

Mycroft knew all of that. He's considered the possibility of Gregory becoming his partne— _assistant_ a long time ago, and he knew that Gregory would be a wonderful asset to his work, what with his many connections and friends. But...he's _Gregory_. He knew damn well that having Gregory by his side would be more of a hindrance than a help. He never was able to focus whenever Gregory was around.

“I don't mind working with Mycroft, to be honest.”

All eyes turned to Greg. Mycroft was surprised to find the Hufflepuff prefect smiling at him. He shrugged, “I think it'd be fun, getting to know you and...stuff.”

At Gregory's words, Mycroft could feel a slow heat cover his cheeks and up to his ears, and he just knew that he wouldn't be able to hide his blush from any of them.

“I...I see.”

No one said anything for a few beats, a small silence surrounding them for a moment.

“Damn. This is the first time I've heard Mycroft speechless.”

Mycroft glared hard at Gregson, who had a cheeky grin on his face while Harry was just snickering beside him. When Gregson saw Mycroft glare at him, he just laughed. Truly, Gregson and Harry really were fit to be the Head Students—on other students, Mycroft's glare would've petrified them: these two idiots just laughed. Mycroft hoped the next Head Students were at least half as gutsy as them.

“Stop teasing Mycroft, Gregson,” Harry chastised him, although she clearly didn't mean it, “And isn't it about time that someone came along who could shut him up? Greg would be good for him.”

Mycroft could hex these two. No one would know. Instead of doing what he really wanted, Mycroft settled for hiding his head in his hands—a vain effort, he knew, to hide the prominent blush that most likely reached his ears.

“Oh, hey,” Greg suddenly spoke up, looking down at his wrist watch, “Look at the time. I...uh...I ought to go do my rounds now, eh?” Greg said as he crept closer to the door, but stopped when Gregson held up a hand.

“Take Mycroft with you.”

Mycroft's head shot up. “What?”

“Yeah!” Harry put in, grinning, “Take Mycroft with you!”

“I-I have my own rounds to make too, you know,” Mycroft tried to reason.

“Then take Greg with you! Show him ‘round the secret passages and what-not,” Harry said, wiggling her brows at Mycroft not-so-subtlety.

When Mycroft saw Greg perk up at the words “secret passages”, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

“...Alright.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tbh i dont know what this is i just wrote whenever something came to mind lol
> 
> im sorry if the writing is a bit haphazard lmao


	3. Chapter 3

“I...I'm sorry you had to go through that.”

 

Greg turned to look at Mycroft as they walked through the dark corridors, the only lights coming from their wands and the night sky's glow streaming through the tall windows. He shrugged. “I don't mind,” he said simply, a small smile on his lips, “Just didn't realize that you guys were that close, though. Are they always like that with you?” The Head Students were often rather solemn during prefects' meetings.

 

Mycroft huffed out a laugh. Greg really did like hearing Mycroft laugh. “Unfortunately,” he said, though a smile was on his face. “They...they've been protecting me since I was a first year. I guess since that time they've decided to adopt me as their little brother.” Mycroft was silent for a bit as they walked, seemingly lost in thought, before a fond smile appeared on his face again. “I'm very grateful for them...” he said in a soft voice—so soft that Greg might've not heard if he hadn't been listening.

 

Greg knew he must've looked like an idiot as he stared, but he couldn't help it. He'd never have guessed that Mycroft was...sentimental. He always looked like the kind of person who didn't have time for such things—aloof, detached. A bit cold. Of course, he didn't really know Mycroft, considering that they've only been acquainted for a few hours...even though Greg has been watching him for years.

 

They were quiet for a few moments as they continued their walk down the hall, before Greg realized something. He stopped in his tracks, grabbing the hem of Mycroft's sleeve to get his attention. When Mycroft looked at him questioningly, he thought for a moment, before saying, “Right now...we're doing my rounds, yeah?”

 

Mycroft tilted his head. “Yes?”

 

“But what about your rounds? I mean...don't you have areas you were assigned to keep an eye on or something?” Greg was surprised when Mycroft only chuckled at him.

 

“We're doing a part of my patrol now, you could say,” he said in answer for his questioning look.

 

“Wait? This is on your route too? I don't see you around here, though.”

 

When Mycroft just smiled mysteriously at him, Greg was confused—and even more when the taller boy walked towards one of the paintings. Mycroft looked around them for a moment, making sure that no one else was around, and tapped his wand against the paintings in front of him in a sequence.

 

“What're you—”

 

Before Greg could finish his sentence, a large entrance opened up in front of where Mycroft stood. Greg gaped for a moment, and then turned to Mycroft, who was smiling down at him.

 

Greg laughed, a bit of disbelief in his voice. “Christ. I didn't think they'd actually be serious.” Mycroft looked at him askance, so he explained, “Gregson and Harry. I thought they were joking about the secret passages.”

 

Mycroft looked surprised. “Really?” he mused, “To be honest, I thought you'd already be aware that Hogwarts would have a number of secret passages.” He gestured for Greg to follow him, leading him into the dark pathway.

 

“No, no—I’ve heard of the secret passages from some of the upperclassmen,” he said absently, looking up at the walls in interest; they were vaguely transparent, as if you could see on the other side—they worked a bit like a two-way mirror, Greg realized—and whenever Mycroft's wand got nearer the wall, the more clearly you could see on the other side. “I just didn't think that you'd actually show me. Aren't these passages supposed to be...you know—secret?”

 

“Mm,” Mycroft hummed. “Yes, well...since the Head Students suggested it, I thought that it might be a good idea as well. And if you're going to be my partne—assistant,” Mycroft looked down at his feet instead of Greg, his ears a bit pink. ‘Wasn't that just adorable?’ Greg thought. “I might as well...‘show you the ropes, yes?”

 

Another surprising thing about Mycroft: he blushed easily, and it was damn adorable. He should probably try to stop himself from falling even more for the Slytherin, but he can't really bring himself to care. When Greg couldn't think of anything else to say—his brain never really worked well when Mycroft was around—he looked towards the wall.

 

“I'm thankful for this,” he said instead, “You showing me around and all...it's nice of you.”

 

“I...it's no problem, Gregory. I was glad to show you.” Now Greg was pretty sure he was blushing up to his ears, if the heat he could feel on his cheeks were any indication—he was just glad he was facing away from Mycroft, to be honest. They fell silent for a bit, neither of them really knowing what else to say. Greg was the first to speak. “So...instead of going on patrols ‘round the corridors...you patrol the secret passages instead?”

 

Mycroft looked a bit relieved when Greg broke the silence. “Yes,” he nodded. “But in a way, I'm also patrolling all of the corridors, since this passageway wraps around the whole castle. I use it to monitor the school, as well as a way to check on the prefects' conduct during patrols.”

 

As Mycroft said this, they passed one of the corridors, where they could see two prefects snogging in one of the dark corners. Greg huffed out a laugh when he saw, while Mycroft merely rolled his eyes. They moved past that corridor, Mycroft muttering something about teenage hormones while Greg continued snickering.

* * *

 

They continued the walk around the dark passage, Mycroft humming disapprovingly every time they passed another pair snogging in a dark corner. Something about it bothered Greg for a bit...before a realization hit him. Greg stopped dead in his tracks, his face flushed. It took a few seconds before Mycroft noticed the absence of footfalls beside him.

 

Mycroft looked back at him, his brow raised. “Gregory?”

 

When Mycroft looked at him, he looked down and away, unable to meet the Slytherin's eyes as a steady blush crept up his cheeks to his ears. “Er,” Greg said rather eloquently.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Um,” Greg said after a moment of hesitation, still unable to look Mycroft in the eyes, “You...you've been doing patrols every night then, yes...?”

 

Mycroft tilted his head at him. “Yes, of course.”

 

“And...you know everything—and I mean everything—that happens in the school corridors after hours, yeah...?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Greg immediately dropped his head in his hands, covering his face in shame. “Oh my god.”

 

“Gregory?”

 

“N-no, no, it’s nothing.”

 

“It clearly isn't if you're acting that way.”

 

“Yeah, no, I-I don't really want to talk—”

 

“Gregory.”

 

Greg let out a loud sigh. “I...” He stopped for a moment, looking up at Mycroft for a bit before immediately looking down again. Yeah, he really can't look him in the eye now. “It's just that...I've realized...something.”

 

“And what is it that you have realized?”

 

“Yeah, I was getting to that,” Greg huffed. Mycroft chuckled at him quietly, and Greg couldn't help the small smile that pulled at his lips at the sound. But his smile disappeared when he continued, “You...you know everything that happens at school in the dark, yeah?”

 

“We've established that, yes.”

 

Greg swallowed thickly.

 

“Then...then that means...”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You saw...”

 

“I've seen many things Gregory, you'll have to be more specific.”

 

“You saw me fucking around with other prefects before.”

 

They were both silent for a few seconds. Greg could see Mycroft trying to process his words. When realization dawned on the Slytherin, his cheeks flushed hard. Greg would've thought the sight was adorable if he wasn't so embarrassed with himself right now.

 

“Erm. Yes,” Mycroft said quietly, looking away from Greg. The tips of his ears were bright red. “I have...in fact...seen you in such positions, yes...”

 

Greg was mortified. Not much by the fact that someone saw him snogging another prefect, but that it was Mycroft that saw him. With anyone else, it wouldn't have bothered him. But with Mycroft...

 

“You are young, Gregory. I understand,” Mycroft said a bit tensely, still facing away from Greg. “Surely such...urges must be relieved one way or another, yes?” As Mycroft said this, he continued his walk down the passage, Greg following closely behind.

 

They were quiet for the rest of the patrol, an awkward silence hanging over them the whole time. Greg felt as if he should've explained himself, but really, what was there to explain? He was a teenager. He had hormones. And most of his dalliances weren't really serious, he tried to reason with himself; and to add to that fact, there was nothing between him and Mycroft—he’s only recently started talking to him. So why did he feel so guilty?

 

“I—” he started to say, but cut himself off when Mycroft turned to look at him. Greg gulped when Mycroft stared at him, his piercing gaze feeling as if it was boring into his skin. To be honest, Greg wasn't even sure of what he was going to say.

 

“I...” he continued, “None of those people were serious. The people I snogged, I mean,” he explained. When Mycroft tilted his head, he started rambling. “I-I weren't serious with any of them, is what I'm saying. They don't mean nothing to me. Well, not nothing—of course they're my friends, and all—but none of them mean...something to me, y'know?”

 

They’d stopped walking as Greg started to ramble. When Mycroft just blinked at him, Greg groaned internally. He felt like an idiot; Mycroft must be wondering why Greg was even telling him this—he never even asked, for fuck's sake. “Er. Forget I said anything, it's no big dea—”

 

“It does not matter to me, Gregory.”

 

Greg stared widely at Mycroft, unblinking. Well. Of course he knew that it wouldn't matter to Mycroft—he wasn't exactly a person of import to the Slytherin—but still. To hear it from Mycroft himself is sort of...reassuring? Depressing? He didn't really know how to feel about it.

 

When Greg still didn't say anything, Mycroft continued. “It doesn't matter, Gregory,” he repeated quietly, “Who you snog is none of my business—or anyone else's business, really. You...needn't have told me all that.”

 

Greg just...continued staring at Mycroft, not really knowing what to say. They were quiet for a few seconds, just looking at each other, until Mycroft let out a deep sigh and continued walking. Greg followed after him again.

 

“...Thanks,” Greg said after a few more moments of walking in uncomfortable silence.

 

Mycroft looked at Greg, surprised. He paused for a bit, just looking at Greg, before a small smile formed on his lips. “You're welcome.”

 

Greg grinned at Mycroft, the other smiling back, and the silence that surrounded them after wasn't so uncomfortable anymore.

* * *

 

 

Greg stepped out of the passage when Mycroft opened up the exit on the wall beside them. He turned to look at Mycroft who was still inside the passage.

 

“I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

 

When Mycroft just blinked owlishly at him, Greg couldn't help but chuckle a bit. “Tomorrow,” he explained, “I'm going on another patrol with you, yes?”

 

“Ah,” Mycroft said after a moment, nodding slowly, “Yes. That is, of course, if you still want to.”

 

“‘Course I want to.”

 

Mycroft looked at him strangely. “You know you are not required to do your patrols with me, yes?” Greg nodded. Mycroft cocked his head to the side, continuing, “You may be my assistant, but I'm not requiring you to be by my side at all times.”

 

“Yeah—no, I know that,” Greg assured him, “But...I like hanging out with you. It's nice.”

 

Greg could practically see the cogs turning in Mycroft's head as he tried to process what he had said, and he nearly had to stop himself from laughing when he saw the slow flush rise on the Slytherin's cheeks.

 

“I-I see...”

 

“Do you really?”

 

Mycroft just cocked his head at him. Greg shook his head, smiling. “Never mind. I'll see you tomorrow, Mycroft.”

 

“Yes...see you, Gregory.” They just stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Greg felt like he wanted to do something stupid as he searched Mycroft's face, and he thought that maybe he was seeing the same thought in his eyes. But as he decided to act on it, Mycroft's eyes widened; and before he knew it, he found himself staring at a painting, a wall having appeared between them. Greg blinked, taking a moment to process what had just happened and what he was about to do. A full blush covered his face when his thoughts caught up to him. ‘What the fuck, Greg?!’

 

When Greg turned to flee he saw one of the other older prefects, Katie—a Ravenclaw—, round the corner. She perked up when she saw Greg, immediately bounding up to him and wrapping her arms around one of his, suggestively rubbing her chest against him.

 

“Greggie!” she squealed, “I haven't seen you around at all tonight! Where’ve you been, then?”

 

“Erm. Around.”

 

“Oooh. ‘Around’. Mysterious. So,” she hummed, “You still busy? Or d'you wanna have a little fun before we have to head back to the dorms?”

 

Greg scratched at the back of his neck a bit and looked up over her shoulder, to the wall that closed up between him and Mycroft. “Yeah, I...I don't do that anymore, darling. I've met someone, I think.”

 

She looked up at him, surprised. After a beat though, a slow smile spread across her lips. “Finally got with Mycroft then, have you?”

 

Greg's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets with how wide they were. “Why is it that everyone seems to know that I fancy Mycroft? Have I really been that obvious?”

 

“Greg,” she laughed, “I don’t think subtlety is in your vocabulary, mate, not with all that staring you do.”

 

“I...I didn't think anyone saw that.”

 

“We see you staring all the time, love, believe me. To be honest,” she hummed, “I'm surprised Mycroft doesn't already know.”

 

Greg thought back to what he was about to do—how Mycroft reacted. Oh god. His cheeks colored again, and he puts his head in his hands. “I think he might now. Christ.”

 

The Ravenclaw laughed. “Gone and done something stupid then, have you?”

 

“I think.”

 

She laughed again. “Well,” she sighed, “Even if you did do something stupid, I don't think there's any chance he'd reject you, love. Unless he's straight—which I doubt. Now,” she tugged on his arm, leading him down the corridor, “We might not be snogging anymore, but you still ought to be a gentleman and walk me down to the dorms, yeah?”

 

Greg laughed resignedly as he was pulled along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol sorry for late post


	4. Chapter 4

Mycroft saw when the other prefect came up to Greg, saw how she had rubbed rather suggestively against him. He had seen Greg in various other positions worse than that, and despite saying that it did not matter to him, it was still sort of...painful. He found himself swallowing against the small knot of hurt in his throat, and then walking away before he heard either of them speak.

‘ _Oh, stop being a fool, Mycroft_ ,’ he chastised himself as he walked towards the dungeons, ‘ _Just because he might've shown a bit of...interest(?) doesn't mean it might've been the kind of interest you want..._ ’

He let out a deep sigh as he entered the Slytherin dorm, the only things running through his mind were thoughts of ‘ _What if I hadn't closed the door when he. . .’_ or _‘It could've been me he was with right now. . .’_. Mycroft paused in his thoughts. He...he doesn't want to be whoever Greg is snogging right now. He doesn't want to be just a random _snog_. He wanted to be something more to Greg...not just a one-time fling.

“Mikey!”

Mycroft startled out of his thoughts, ready to knock down whoever called him by the nickname. He calmed down a bit when he saw who called him, but he was still a bit irked. “Anthea. I told you to never call me by that name.”

She waved him off, which made him smile a bit. Only she and the Head Students were able to do that to him. “It doesn't matter what I call you, as long as I got your attention.” She stood up from her armchair near one of the fireplaces in the common room, walking towards him. “Thank fuck you're here,” she whispered, looping an arm through his, “Flint's been trying to chat me up again, and frankly, I'm too fucking tired to deal with it.” As she said this, she looked behind her and glared. Mycroft followed her line of sight and saw that Flint was, indeed, leering at her again. As were a few other students, whether they be boy or girl. Only when Mycroft glared them down did they turn away their heads.

Mycroft smiled down at her. “Oh, to be young and beautiful.”

Anthea flipped him off, before she looked him up and down, frowning. “You've been thinking about Lestrade again.”

“Oh, for fuck's sake.”

“You've got that look about you,” she said, gesturing up at his face as she walked them towards Mycroft's private quarters, “A bit sad. Longing. I thought you were doing your patrols with him?”

Mycroft wasn't even going to ask how she found out about that. “Yes, I did do my patrols with him,” he said simply when they entered his sitting room. Anthea plopped down on the chaise lounge backed against the wall, stretching out across it as if it was her own. She looked up at him expectantly.

“Well?” she pressed when he didn't continue, “Is that all? ‘Cos it doesn’t explain that sad look in your eyes. I thought you'd be happier, having finally talked to him and all.”

He was in the middle of taking off his robes as he blinked down at Anthea. He paused for a moment, thinking. “Do I really look that way when I think of Gregory?” he mumbled after a bit as he continued to take off his robes, hanging them on the hook by the door.

“Well. Most of the time you only look like that when you catch him snogging another prefect again.” As Anthea said this, her face lit up with realization. “You caught him snogging someone?”

When Mycroft didn't answer, Anthea huffed. “How are you _still_ not used to that? You do know that Lestrade's the prefects' boy slut yes?”

Anthea grinned when Mycroft glared at her. “Don't call him that.”

“You know it's true, though.”

Mycroft didn't dignify that with a response, continuing on with his nightly routine as he pulled his jumper over his head before pulling off his tie. He tossed them onto an arm chair, before turning to Anthea as he unbuttoned his cuffs, his brow raised. “And I suppose you're here to offer me comfort because of that? Because of Gregory's reputation? Please,” He scoffed, his tone icy.

Anthea raised her brow at him in return. “I came here because you looked sad—'course I'd come and cheer you up.”

At his friend's words, Mycroft deflated. Now he felt bad. “I'm sorry,” he said quietly.

“Don't apologise. Just make it up to me,” she stood up and walked over to him, poking him in the chest. “You cheer up, okay? Now you stay here while I go and steal some ice cream from the kitchens.”

“What—”

“Mycroft,” she held up her hand when he stood up, “Stay. I'll be back with ice cream in no time.”

Mycroft was about to protest again, before he promptly snapped his mouth shout when Anthea turned to glare at him, making him sigh resignedly as she went out the door to get some ice cream.

* * *

 

Greg was on his way to Potions with his mates when he saw Mycroft across the corridor. He couldn't help the goofy grin that was brought to his face whenever he saw the Slytherin, but it slowly disappeared when he saw that he had...a girl...on his arm. He couldn't see who it was, or if he knew the person, but he could see that whoever it was—they could actually make Mycroft _laugh_.

“Greg. Oi, Lestrade.”

Greg startled out of his thoughts, a frown on his lips as he turned to look at his friend. “What?”

“I asked if you wanted to go to Hogsmeade. But seems like there's somethin' else on your mind, eh?” As Dimmock said this, he looked over at where Greg was staring, grinning when Greg thumped him on the shoulder.

“I wasn't... _thinkin'_ ‘bout him,” Greg huffed, taking one last look at Mycroft and the girl, his heart twisting at the sight, before continuing on his way down the corridor andturning a corner towards the dungeons. “Was just...wondering ‘bout that girl with him.”

Dimmock looked back behind them, squinting. “That girl? Isn't that one of the Slytherin prefects? The hot one?”

Greg looked at his friend, brows raised and eyes wide. “The _hot_ one? Is she really?” Although he wouldn't admit it, this made Greg a bit worried.

“Definitely really.” When Dimmock looked back at Lestrade he rolled his eyes. “Oh please, Greg, you've got nothing to worry about—Mycroft’s gay, remember?”

“He could be bi,” Greg said absently as they entered the classroom, thinking. What if...that girl was his girlfriend? ‘Cos that would definitely explain why Mycroft brought up that wall between them last night...and meant that he's just ruined any chance of a friendship happening between them.

“Could be,” Dimmock shrugged, “But that doesn't mean that he's dating the girl, alrigh'?”

Greg looked incredulously at Dimmock as they went up to their station. “How can you be so sure? You've just told me that that girl’s apparently the ‘hot’ prefect. Why else would Mycroft let her be on his arm if she weren't his girlfriend?”

“ ‘Cos she's gay and dating Sally Donovan.”

“What?”

Before Dimmock could even reply, the dungeons door slammed open, Snape whirling into the classroom with his robes billowing behind him.

* * *

 

“As much as I appreciate you walking with me to class, I fail to see why you've decided to hang onto me like a lost child at the market with their mother.”

Anthea grinned widely at Mycroft, which made him a bit suspicious. “Oh this is nothing, really. Just saw how you helped Sherlock get ready this morning and was enchanted by your motherly allure. Thought maybe I should go along with it.” At that, Anthea shrugged, and Mycroft couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of his friend.

“But seriously, dear, what are you doing? I know you're up to something because of that mischievous glint in your eye; and it's not often that you walk with me to class like this. Plus,” Mycroft sighed, “The unwarranted attention we're getting is starting to annoy me.” As he said this he glanced up around them, several heads turning away at once. Of course they'll get stared at; Mycroft wasn't exactly someone who cut a friendly figure, and then to be seen with Slytherin's prized prefect—it’s no surprise that they're turning heads.

As they stopped at one of the columns of the central courtyard, she grinned up at him. “I'm doing an experiment,” she said simply, her eyes lighting up when she caught sight of someone. “Oh, good. Right on schedule.”

Mycroft turned his head to where Anthea was looking, his eyes widening a bit when he saw Gregory. “Anthea, what—,” before he could finish what he was saying, Anthea pinched him, forcing him to look back at her. “Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t look, ‘else the experiment won't work,” she hissed.

Mycroft looked doubtful, glancing at Greg from the corner of his eye instead. It seemed that Greg hadn't seen them yet. Mycroft thought he looked a little melancholy as he walked down the corridor with his friends.

“If he looks back, it means my experiment worked.”

And true enough, before they turned the corner, Greg looked back at them. Mycroft felt his heart stutter even as Anthea squeezed his arm painfully, looking up at him excitedly.

“I...what were you exactly trying to prove?” he wondered absently as he walked them a bit further down the corridor so he could stare after Greg's back.

“He really _is_ into you!” she squealed.

Mycroft startled out of his thoughts, turning to Anthea, scandalized. “Nonsense. He barely knows me. We've only met yesterday.”

“But he really does fancy you!” Anthea insisted, “I've always been hearing from the other prefects how they always catch him staring at you rather longingly, and I wanted to see for myself if it really was true. Turns out it is! Aren't you glad, My?”

Mycroft was now blushing to the tips of his ears. The notion that Gregory might possibly... _fancy_ him...it was petrifying. Mycroft wasn't sure why. “N-no,” he shook his head, “No, he wasn't looking at me, he was looking at you,” he reasoned, because really—who'd fancy Mycroft Holmes?

He was not prepared for the thump on the head he received, nor was he prepared for Anthea's withering glare that was rarely directed at him. “Mycroft,” she said, and he knew he was in trouble if she was using his name correctly, “If you don't get your head out of your _arse_ , I _swear_ to Merlin I will—”

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Mycroft raised his hands in appeasement, though he still looked doubtfully at her. “I won't dissuade you from this... _foolishness_ ,” Anthea rolled her eyes at him, but he held up his hand before she could speak, “But I must ask—where... _exactly_...did you get this information?”

Mycroft felt a headache coming on when he saw the grin on Anthea's face.

* * *

 

“You're dating the hot Slytherin prefect, yes?”

Greg wasn't prepared for the way that his friend blushed to the tips of her ears, neither for the punch she threw his way, narrowly missing him by a hair as he dodged.

“What the _fuck_ , Donovan?!”

“Who told you?!” Before Greg could even answer, Sally had grabbed him by the ear, dragging him away from the common room and into the stairwell leading to the girls' dormitories, a constant stream of ‘ow, fuck!’ coming from Greg. “I haven't told anyone about that! How could you possibly have found out?”

Greg pouted at Donovan, rubbing absently at his sore ear. “Dimmock told me. How'd he find out?”

At Greg's words, Sally screwed her eyes up in frustration. She took a deep breath through her nose, then out through her mouth. “Dimmock,” she said, pained, “That twat caught us on a date in Hogsmeade. He promised he wouldn't tell anyone...”

“So you really are dating her, then?” Greg was pleasantly surprised.

Sally raised a brow at him, perplexed. “Yeah? What's it to you?”

Greg hadn't realized it, but he let out a relieved sigh. “Nah, it's nothing,” he grinned. “Dunno why I was worried, hah,” he added quietly to himself.

Sally took a long look at him, before realization lit up her eyes. “This isn't about Mycroft, is it?”

“What? No!” Greg denied, his cheeks immediately turning pink.

“Oh, god. It totally is. She didn't do her experiment, did she?”

Greg paused at that. He cocked his head at her, confused. “Experiment?”

Sally let out a huff, muttering about mischievous girlfriends and clueless gay boys, Greg correcting her that he's bi. “You thought they were together, didn't you? That's why you're asking if I'm dating her.”

When Greg didn’t answer and his cheeks flushed instead, Sally rolled her eyes, knowing she was right. “Whatever you saw, just know this: Mycroft and Anthea are best friends—they’ve known each other since they were children. To be honest, I think they'd probably gag at the notion of being thought of as ‘together'.”

Greg took a moment to process this. “Wait.” He looked at Sally, questioning. “You mentioned something about an experiment. What was the experiment?”

“To prove whether you fancy Mycroft or not.” Sally laughed when she saw Greg pale at her words. “Don't worry—Mycroft’s not in on it. It's just Anthea being a nosy tit.”

Greg looked doubtfully at her, unconvinced. “And...do you think they found the result they wanted...?”

Sally looked him up and down, grinning. “Based on how you're reacting, yeah. I reckon they got what they wanted.”

“Oh god,” Greg groaned, leaning back against the wall and slumping down, his head hanging. He looked up at Sally, “What do I do _now_?” he despaired, “If Mycroft definitely knows I fancy him, and it's not mutual, then he'll definitely be avoiding me now!”

“Ah, yeah,” Sally hummed, which made Greg look at her questioningly, “Anthea warned me about that too, yeah, since Mycroft believes he's not “worthy” of you—”

“Wait—what?”

Sally continued as if Greg hadn't spoken. “So here's what you do...”

**Author's Note:**

> will update soon (i hope lol)


End file.
